


Sherlock Holmes And The Case Of Sexual Hunger

by LupinTheLegend



Series: John Watson In Cases Of The Expanding Trousers [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Hunger, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, fat kink, pre-weight gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupinTheLegend/pseuds/LupinTheLegend
Summary: “Could you move? I’ve been laying here too long, and I’m wasting the day.” Sherlock was fully aware of how rigid he was under his love’s touch, but the other man seemed blissfully unaware.John raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes closed, not shifting an inch. “But, the sun hasn’t even risen, yet.”“Watson, let me up.”Maybe Sherlock was too stern. Maybe it was the less than casual abandonment of John’s first name. But, the doctor’s eyes shot open while his head shot backward, as if recoiling from a wretched stink. “You haven’t called me that in a while. Is everything alright?” He pushed himself into a seated position, the sheets and duvet covering his lap.---.... Or, the one where Sherlock mourns the life of John's tum.pre-fat!Watson.Don't like, don't read.





	Sherlock Holmes And The Case Of Sexual Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is short. It's more of a scene than a full-fledged story, but it worked best alone. I couldn't think of any other chapters or how I got to where this was. It was easiest to post this as a solitary story, especially since I'm best at writing one-scene oneshots. There is some Holmes-type body shaming, but it's not the bullying kind. It's more like the, "I find it hard to touch you because you're not ask cute as you once were," but in story-form with conflict and angst.

It was Monday. The sun was still low in the sky, purple and orange only beginning to permeate the clouds above. City noise already pierced qSherlock’s veil of sleep. As John’s arm had snaked around the detective in the night, Sherlock was thinking of various ways to get out of bed without waking him.

 

After John had ended their nightly takeaway ritual, he’d lost the softness that had driven Sherlock wild. The detective found himself having to resort to certain aids. Even then, getting the sort of happy he’d been when his loves belly pushed against his belt was more difficult than his most difficult case.

 

Sherlock had become rigid under John’s touch. But, he had a plan, having created an additive that could be sprinkled on John’s meals. It would immediately affect the doctor’s appetite, and, in the end, would increase Sherlock’s sexual hunger.

 

The detective kissed his love’s forehead three times. “John?”

 

“If you’re any louder, you’ll wake Mrs. Hudson.” The doctor grimaced, not bothering to open an eye or to lift his head from Sherlock’s chest.

 

“Could you move? I’ve been laying here too long, and I’m wasting the day.” Sherlock was fully aware of how rigid he was under his love’s touch, but the other man seemed blissfully unaware.

 

John raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes closed, not shifting an inch. “But, the sun hasn’t even risen, yet.”

 

“Watson, let me up.”

 

Maybe Sherlock was too stern. Maybe it was the less than casual abandonment of John’s first name. But, the doctor’s eyes shot open while his head shot backward, as if recoiling from a wretched stink. “You haven’t called me that in a while. Is everything alright?” He pushed himself into a seated position, the sheets and duvet covering his lap.

 

The detective squeezed his eyes shut like a child who’s too afraid of what he doesn’t want to see, and rolled away. Sherlock threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up, and curling his toes into the rug. His eyes were still closed. His chin touched his chest. For the first time in a while, his body was completely relaxed.

 

“I miss you.” Three simple words that made sense to Sherlock, but wouldn’t make sense to John, tumbled from his mouth. That filter Sherlock had worked hard to install in the hundred-foot wall he put up had abandoned him in that moment. Silently, the detective hoped his love wouldn’t do what he knew he would.

 

He felt John get to his knees, walking on the mattress until he was behind him. The doctor wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, and every muscle in the detective’s body tightened. John whispered, “I’m right here.”

 

But, his hold had loosened, which gave Sherlock the ability to wriggle free.

 

Sherlock stood, flexing his hands. “No, you’re not — not all of you. Not the you that I need.”

 

Snatching his robe off the chair, the detective threw it on, and escaped from the room. The Great Sherlock Holmes had finally met his match, and it wasn’t the latest villain. Once out of the room, he paused in the hallway, faced a way, and began to hit it with his forehead. Each repetition became a little bit louder — a little bit heavier.

 

Since when did The Great Sherlock Holmes run away? Since when did he flee from danger? Since when did he stop running toward it? Since when did he stuff his words into his sock, instead of having to stuff his foot in his mouth after-the-fact?

 

But, this wasn’t danger. This wasn’t the latest villain. This was John, the love of his life, who left him alone even though he was still here.

 

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

 

Sherlock was only vaguely aware that he was giving himself a headache, and possibly a giant bruise. He wasn’t at all aware that his mouth was betraying him, and all his secrets. He wasn’t aware of John standing there, or his wide-eyed sniffling and tears.

 

He didn’t hear Mrs. Hudson say, “Doctor Watson, I think you broke him.”

 

He didn’t hear Mrs. Hudson retreat to her room. He didn’t hear John calling his name. But, he did feel the doctor take him by the arms and spin him around.

 

Immediately, Sherlock buried his head in his loves chest. “I can’t bare to look at you. Placing my head here feels much better than seeing you topless, no matter how uncomfortable.”

 

He felt John shift from foot to foot.

 

“You must think less of me. I would, too, if I were you. Standard beliefs of beauty and all.” Sherlock felt John hold him to his chest by curling his fingers into his unruly morning hair.

 

The doctor kissed the top of the detective’s head, which was only easy because he was still curled in his chest. “What would you do if I requested takeaway for breakfast, and a double waffle with candied ginger, lemon curd, and caramel?”

 

“Stop mocking me. Sherlock Holmes does not like to be mocked.”

 

“I’m not. How could I? You honestly don’t know half of what came out of your mouth, do you?”

 

“Do I ever?”

 

John chuckled. “So this powder, it will disintegrate once it hits the food?”

 

Sherlock pushed away, giving John an inquisitive, wide-eyed look that a child may give Santa Claus after hearing from his parents that Santa was a lie, and finding him to be very real. “Yes — yes it will.”

 

“Then I shoulder order another double waffle, just in case — preferably with fried chicken.” The doctor gave his love’s nose a kiss. “You know my gullet. In all likelihood, I’ll enjoy this as much as you.”

 

John headed to the stairs and stopped, looking back with a spark in his eyes. “This — this thing we are… it comes with belly rubs, yes?”


End file.
